Richard struck me so hard I fell to the floor tile dropped like a ball
He grabbed my arm and drug me around like I weighed nothing at all
I was his toy and punching thing
When he stopped hitting me my face started to sting
I tried to duck but not flinch when he threw his watch at my face
He eyed his shoe's loose lace
I looked down at his shoes
This was bad news
He yanked his right shoe off and held my wrists forcing me to stand
As he knocked my head with his left hand still on me he hurt me with his Timberland
Bruises from his boot and also his hand
He whacked me with a wire hanger that man
Fed just enough to stay alive
Hiding under tables helped me survive
Never liked tan heavy work boots sliding on the floor
I remember his Timberlands scraping as he moved to open the door
Light from the hall pouring in over the shadow on me who he calls Harlow
I was still too young to know
What's a Timberland?
Why do I feel pain from his hand?
What is the thing outside shaped like french fry containers with merry-go-round poles inside?
Why do I have to hide?
Why is the french fry thing so big and has wheels?
Is it a food truck, does it bring people their meals?
I hope maybe I can get something to eat
I don't ever go outside or see the street
Should a hanger hurt?
Should there be red on my shirt?
Did I do something wrong?
Mommy Daddy I've been here so long
YOU ARE READING
Cochran Legacy (I Remember The Cochran Circus)
Non-FictionThis is not a story of my life, my kidddnapping, trauma and my family's pain. This is our story and OUR legacy. This is our home. We are a dying breed that can not be duplicated and we must stick together in order to inform people, bring joy & sm...
